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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963452">If the Fates Allow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya'>Narya (Narya_Flame)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame'>Narya_Flame</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Wanderer [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bittersweet, Christmas, Christmas Special, Elves In The Present Day, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Maglor (Tolkien) Through History, Middle-earth is our Earth, Modern Era, POV First Person, POV Original Female Character, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Scotland, Swearing, Winter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:47:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The festive season approaches in St Andrews, but not all is merry and bright...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maglor | Makalaurë &amp; Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Wanderer [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Consider this a belated Paradox Christmas special.  (I'm sorry it's late.  I fully understand people may not be in the mood for Christmas any more, if you ever were at all!)  It may not make much sense if you're not familiar with the longer fic.</p><p>There are references in here to things that haven't been shown “on screen” in any published stories yet, but I don't think any of it is plot critical.  (Not that there is a huge amount of plot here – mostly this was an exercise in festive self-indulgence.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"We need to talk about Christmas."</p><p>I looked up at my cousin.  "What do you mean?"</p><p>Pinpricks of snow curled past the window; from the living room came an outraged shriek as Theo once again beat Rosie at <i>Crash Team Racing.</i>  Harrison leaned against the radiator, eyebrows lifted, arms folded against the cold.  "Well, I assume you're not planning to leave Mark here by himself for three weeks."</p><p>The kettle clicked.  “No.”  Carefully I lifted it off the stand and poured hot water over the leaves.  "No, I'm not."</p><p>"So you were going to leave me to fend for myself in Sheffield, with nosy relatives and tiny children and everything?"  </p><p>Guiltily, I blushed.  "Harrison, I'm sorry...of course I'd have told you..."</p><p>He shrugged.  </p><p>"What about Luc?" I asked – and as if on cue, I heard his soft, accented tones from the living room, soothing Rosie's wounded pride. "He'd help you fend them all off, I'm sure."</p><p>Harrison folded his arms.  "The thing is, after what happened this summer...big family Christmas?"</p><p>"Ah."  I should have thought about this, I realised, and my guilty flush deepened.  "Not at the top of his letter to Santa?"</p><p>"Definitely not."</p><p>I nodded, stirring the tea leaves.  "So you're staying too."</p><p>"We're thinking about it.  It's either that, or Luc and I head off and get a cottage somewhere for a few weeks, just the two of us.  We'd be able to book something; it's not exactly high season."</p><p>"So you'd have left <i>me</i> on my own with our crazy family?" I teased him.</p><p>"No!"  He glared.  "I knew <i>you'd</i> want to stay here with Mark – unless you were planning to take him back to Sheffield?"</p><p>I thought about it for a moment.  The idea of Mark meeting my grandmother, sitting at our dining room table, pulling crackers with my uncle, was utterly ludicrous.  I snorted.  "No."</p><p>"I didn't think so."  Harrison's gaze softened, though I couldn't help thinking I'd disappointed him.  "What do you reckon, then?  Should we stay, or...?"</p><p>I resisted the urge to sing The Clash.  "What are Rosie and Theo doing?"</p><p>"They've got their excuses all ready, if they need them.”  He grinned.  “Rosie's going to have an important experiment running in her lab that she can't leave for more than a day or so.  Theo's going to invent a failed exam."</p><p>"Knowing him, he might not have to invent one."</p><p>"That isn't fair," Harrison said reproachfully.  "He's worked his backside off this semester."</p><p>"True."  I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.  I wasn't exactly covering myself in glory this afternoon.  "Pass the milk?"</p><p>Harrison complied.  "I suppose the only snag is whether Mark wants us all around."  He gave me a sharp look as he handed over the carton.  "Or whether you do."</p><p>As I poured out, I considered.  "I think it would be better if we were all here."  I tried to take the question seriously, and not feel stung by his barb.  "If it were just the two of us, it might be a bit..."</p><p>"You spent all summer together in Venice."</p><p>"Yes, and it was wonderful."  As snow flicked quietly against the window, I closed my eyes and remembered the warm winds blowing off the lagoon, the rumpled silk of the canals as the boats wound their way through ancient streets, the houses on the islands painted as bright as boiled sweets, and the perfect curves of the basilicas.  "But it was...different."  Like stepping into another world for a few brief, beautiful weeks.  I'd said nothing to the others about the long, warm nights, as heady as the expensive wines we'd been drinking, when I'd sit in the great attic living room with the balcony doors open – netted, to keep out the moths and mosquitoes – and Maglor would play his harp until I fell asleep on the divan.  I'd said nothing about the dazed enchantment of the days lying in the grass in the gardens behind his house, forgetting that the city was only a few minutes away.  I'd said nothing about the twilit evenings spent wandering the streets, when the lamps would throw halos of soft orange light into the fog creeping in from the sea, and the city would loom out of  the shadows, its air and touch and scents like a lover's embrace.  "I think for Christmas, here, I'd rather you were all around." </p><p>Harrison watched me.</p><p>"Stay," I said eventually.  If nothing else, I didn't like the thought of him and Luc alone somewhere, dwelling on the events of the summer.  “Unless you really don't want to.  If you'd prefer to get somewhere for the two of you, no-one would mind..."</p><p>Harrison shook his head.  "No.  I don't think brooding and raking it over will help."</p><p>I was relieved his view was the same as mine.  "You don't think this will be too...I don't know...busy and silly for Luc?"</p><p>"He's put up with it for an entire semester, hasn't he?"  Harrison grinned.  "And for most of last semester too."</p><p>"You know what I mean."</p><p>"Yeah, I do."  He rubbed his nose.  "I wouldn't have wanted to take him back to Sheffield; I don't want him to think I'm trying to replace what he's lost.  And you know what our family are like.  Our Mums would probably overdo it, trying to make him feel welcome and at home, and...yeah."  He grimaced.</p><p>"I get it," I laughed.  </p><p>"But if we stay here for Christmas, all of us, it'll be like...just carrying on as normal, but with extra tinsel.  And no work for a few weeks."</p><p>I laughed again.  "Normal but with extra tinsel.  That doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement."</p><p>He blushed under his freckles.  "I think we can...kind of make our own traditions, if we do it this way.  Does that make sense?  Then we're not trying to replace anything.  We're making something for ourselves."  His eyes sharpened again.  "That would probably help Mark, too."</p><p>I held his gaze, giving nothing away.  "Probably, yes."</p><p>Harrison paused as though waiting for me to say something else, then smiled a little ruefully.  "Are you going to tell him?" </p><p>"Of course."   I picked up the mugs.  "I just need to find the right moment, so he doesn't try to argue us out of it."</p><p>Harrison frowned.  "You don't think he'd prefer to be alone?"</p><p><i>I think he'd prefer to have his family back, and to not need us at all.</i>  "I don't think he'd want us to feel any sort of...you know...duty towards him."</p><p>Harrison raised his eyebrows and spread his hand over his chest.  "But I am the slave of duty!"</p><p>I grinned.  "That's Theo's line."</p><p>There was no big winter show this year; we'd put on Sweeney Todd for Hallowe'en, but since the university had decided to hold exams before Christmas instead of after the holidays, Xander decided not to risk anyone's grades by scheduling a late November or December performance.  </p><p>"We'll make up for it, though," he promised us in the Whey Pat one night.  "I've got big plans for next semester.  Huge."</p><p>I exchanged a glance with Mark.  <i>Phantom?</i>  I was trying to think of something that could possibly top Les Mis.</p><p>Mark, who had been quiet throughout the evening, now lifted an eyebrow.  <i>Claire James, I hope you're not suggesting I should read his mind?</i></p><p>
  <i>Would I do such a thing?</i>
</p><p>The corner of Mark's mouth lifted; I noticed Harrison's eyes on us, and turned back to Xander.  "Can we ask, or is it a secret?" </p><p>Xander tapped the side of his nose and changed the subject.</p><p>As we walked back home, I let Rosie and the boys wander ahead, and fell into step beside Mark.  The snow had stuck, and then rapidly melted; the pavements were slushy, and the damp seeped in through my shoes.  </p><p>“This is more like the manky grey London stuff than proper Scottish snow,” I complained.</p><p>Mark smiled.  “I've known some very beautiful winters in London.”</p><p>“I'm sure.”  I slipped my arm through his.  “Anyway, speaking of winters...”</p><p>A low, melodic chuckle.  “Is this about Christmas?”</p><p>“Oh.  Well – yes, actually.”</p><p>“I overheard Rosie and Theo talking about it on the landing.”</p><p>I shook my head.  “There are no secrets in our house, are there?”</p><p>“I can think of a few.”</p><p>“True.”  I glanced ahead, but the others seemed occupied – Luc and Harrison were holding hands; Theo and Rosie were attempting to tickle each other, and were darting about and shrieking loudly.  “You still don't think...?”</p><p>“We can't tell them, Claire.”</p><p>I nodded and squeezed his arm, not prepared to argue about it.  “Anyway.”</p><p>“Yes.”  He lifted his head towards the sea.  “I don't want you all to change your plans because you feel obliged to keep me company.  I have the house on Torcello.  I could go there, if I decided not to stay here.”</p><p>I sighed, choosing my next words carefully.  “You know, I don't think it is an obligation.  It certainly isn't on my part, anyway – I love my family, but whenever I go back to Sheffield now, it's like...like I tried to grow up and failed, somehow.  If you'll have me, I'd rather be with you.”</p><p>He smiled, and tucked his fingers around mine.</p><p>“Luc can't go home, obviously, and subjecting him to someone else's big family Christmas after what happened over the summer feels...”  I gestured.  “I don't know.”</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>“Theo's not keen to have another long stretch of time back in Northumberland – you know what his parents have been like this year – and Rosie doesn't want to be left out.”  I shrugged.  “If you'd prefer to be by yourself then that's up to you, but don't assume we'd rather go home.”  The word felt strange in my mouth.  St Andrews was my home now, and had been for months – and the odd, messy group of people I shared a flat with were the family that I'd chosen.  </p><p>Maglor shook his head slowly, still smiling, though there were shadows behind his eyes that I'd come to recognise all too well.  “It's kind of you.”</p><p>“It's pure selfishness, I'm afraid.”</p><p>He laughed.  “That line barely works when your cousin uses it.  It doesn't suit <i>you</i> at all.”  Lightly, he rubbed his thumb over my wrist.  “Claire – thank you.”</p><p>Over the next couple of weeks, Harrison, Rosie, Theo and Luc applied themselves with vigour to their books.  Mark and I tried to give them space; we had our own projects and tasks to wrap up before the semester finished, but we weren't frantically working to memorise an entire term's work.  </p><p>"I hate both of you," Theo sighed one evening.  </p><p>Mark and I looked up from our board game.</p><p>"I assume you're talking about our lack of exams," Mark said eventually.</p><p>"It's so bloody unfair..."</p><p>"Don't forget we've already been through it," I pointed out.  "It isn't as though we've escaped altogether."</p><p>"I still hate you."  Theo put down his pen and flexed his wrist.  "Why can't it be over already?"</p><p>"Don't wish  your life away," Mark said – gently enough, but there was sharpness there if you listened for it, like one note in a piano chord that was ever so slightly out of tune.</p><p>Theo held his gaze for a moment, then smiled guiltily and went back to his books.</p><p>Between us, Mark and I kept them fed and sane, much as we had done for the January and May exams, and took ourselves out of the flat to cafes and pubs and Younger Hall when we needed to escape the revision madness.  Luc, in particular, was feeling the pressure this time; not only was it his final year, he had extra papers to complete, the trade-off for having transferred to St Andrews to complete his degree.  And, too, he was applying for postgraduate study.  As the semester drew to a close he grew quieter and more tense, and a fine furrow appeared between his brows.</p><p>"Is he OK?" I asked Harrison quietly one evening, when the others had all gone to bed.</p><p>Harrison shrugged.  "He has good days and bad days.” </p><p>The morning of his first exam was apparently a bad day.  He shouted at Theo for not understanding what he meant by “the thing that does the water thing,” and then looked stricken and promptly apologised at the sight of Theo's startled face.  Theo, to his credit, accepted the apology graciously, and even made coffee as soon as he realised that Luc had lost the English word for kettle.</p><p>“You know, he isn't angry with you,” I told Theo as we walked towards North Street.  He had an exam at Younger Hall; I was on my way to the library.</p><p>“I know.”  Theo's answering smile was quick and genuine.  “I suppose in a way he's grieving.  I know he's in touch with some of his family, but I can't imagine what it must be like to do that – to leave everything behind the way that he did.”</p><p>“Not quite everything.  And he has Harrison, and the rest of us, now.  But...yes, I do think you're right.”</p><p>His smile widened and his eyes gleamed.  “Wow.  There really is a first time for everything.”</p><p>“Stop it,” I laughed, nudging him in the ribs.  “OK – this is you.”</p><p>“Unfortunately.”</p><p>With a dart of guilt I remembered how disparaging I'd been of his study habits earlier in the week, and pulled him into a quick hug.  “You'll be fine.”</p><p>As it turned out, I was right.  Harrison and Theo got through their papers with relatively little worry – as did Luc, once he got into the swing of the exams and found his focus.  Rosie, however, grew more and more anxious after each sitting, and one afternoon she came home in tears.  </p><p>"What happened?" I asked her, startled by her pale face and red, watery eyes.</p><p>"I didn't read the question properly."  Her lower lip trembled.  "I spent half the exam writing about completely the wrong thing...oh, God, I think I f-failed..."</p><p>She covered her face, sobbing again.  I pushed back my chair – but before I could move, Theo had got up from the sofa and drawn her into a gentle hug.</p><p>"Sssh."  He brushed her hair back out of the tear-trails on her face.  "It's OK.  Your marks are sky-high from coursework; one exam won't make much difference at all."</p><p>"B-but if I don't get on the Dean's List then I might not get my N-Nasa funding..."</p><p>"If you drop off the Dean's List this time, you've got a year and a half to get back on it."  Theo squeezed her shoulders.  "But I bet you don't."  He hesitated, then added, "you've got twice the brains of anyone else in your year, so logically, you should only need half the time to pass the exam."</p><p>Rosie laughed, hiccupped, and pressed her cheek into his shirt.  </p><p>While they studied, I turned my attention to decorating the flat.  I'd invested in a nicer tree this year – a stout Scots Pine in a glossy red pot – and hunted down some vintage decorations in a charity shop.  Harrison insisted on crowning it with a gaudy, glittering reindeer, and Theo unearthed a set of flashing, singing, multicoloured Christmas lights in Tesco's.  By turns they emitted thin, reedy versions of <i>Jingle Bells</i>, <i>O Christmas Tree</i>, and <i>Santa Claus is Coming to Town</i>.</p><p>“Brilliant,” Harrison grinned, draping them over the branches during a study break.  “Good effort, bud.”</p><p>Luc stared at them.  “Have you both gone mad?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>Mark winced at the high-pitched, slightly off-key rendition of the <i>O Christmas Tree</i> refrain.</p><p>“I suppose they don't have to be switched on all the time,” I sighed.</p><p>As it turned out, even Harrison and Theo couldn't stand the sound of them for more than a few minutes together.  The lights remained silent, and arguments were averted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their last exams were on the morning of the twenty-first.  The sky was heavy and iron-grey, and the breakfast news was full of conspiracy theorists proclaiming the end of the world, interspersed with weary scientists telling listeners that there was no evidence for any such thing.</p><p>“I don't understand.”  Luc shook his head as he poured milk onto his cereal, baffled by the comments of an earnest gentleman who had apparently spent the last three days camping out in North Wales in preparation for the apocalypse.  “If the world is going to end, how will it help him to be in a field?”</p><p>“It isn't going to end,” Rosie snapped.  “The Mayan calendar doesn't finish today, there's no planet on a collision course with Earth, and the polar shift theory is bollocks.  These people are just <i>stupid;</i>  I don't know why they're giving them air time.”</p><p>Harrison raised his eyebrows at this unusual display of venom.  “Dude, maybe you'd better turn that off,” he advised Mark.</p><p>Mark, who had been sitting quietly by the radio, didn't appear to hear him.</p><p>I tilted my head.  “Mark?”</p><p>He jumped a little.  “I'm sorry – of course.”  The camping conspiracist was silenced just as he was about to launch into his theories about the world being flat.  Mark unfolded himself from the windowsill and smiled briefly.  “Excuse me.”</p><p>I watched him leave, frowning.</p><p>Theo looked at Rosie, then at Harrison, then finally at me.  “What was that all about?”</p><p>“No idea.”</p><p>“Does he know something we don't?”</p><p>“Enough to fill several libraries, I expect.”  I looked at my watch, and my stomach hopped.  “Does anyone have an exam at the Sports Hall?”</p><p>“Me,” said Harrison.  </p><p>“Then you need to be out of the door in fifteen minutes.”</p><p>Once they had all been safely despatched to sit their final papers, I went upstairs.  I knew Mark would still be there; the front door was noisy, and I hadn't heard it open or close before the others left.  </p><p>He was out on the balcony, leaning against the railings.  I said nothing at first, and simply stood beside him.  Ahead, the cathedral reared out of the gloom; gulls shrieked, skimming low above the Pends, and the air was thick with the promise of snow.  </p><p>“Not terribly festive, is it?”  His voice was light, but brittle – a veneer over darkness he would only sometimes share.</p><p>I sighed.  “Maglor, what's the matter?”</p><p>He lifted an eyebrow at my unthinking use of his true name.  “Nothing I can easily explain.”</p><p>“It never is.”</p><p>He gave a laugh like a wolf's bark.  “Claire...”</p><p>“I'm sorry.”  I waited.</p><p>Eventually he turned away from the crumbled ruin, and gave me something like a smile.  “You'll make fun of me, I'm afraid.”</p><p>“Maybe.”  I pulled my hoodie closer around my body.  “Maybe that's no bad thing.”</p><p>The corners of his eyes creased a little.  “Very well.  You heard the radio this morning.”</p><p>“The flat earthers, and their supposed apocalypse?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>I rested my elbows on the railings and gave him a quizzical look.  “I'm not convinced I'm understanding this right.”</p><p>This time he laughed properly.  “If you think I'm concerned that we're about to collide with the Planet Nibiru, then no, you're not.”</p><p>I slid my arm through his.</p><p>“I know, rationally, for all the reasons Rosie gave, that the world will not end today.  And yet for hundreds of years now, I have known...I have felt...”  He took a sharp inward breath.  “Gods, perhaps I should not have begun to tell you.”</p><p>“Mark,” I said, as gently as I could.  “Maglor.”  <i>I will listen to anything you need to say.</i></p><p>I felt the familiar prickling thrum at the edge of my mind – the brush of his consciousness against mine, affectionate, and yet there was something else behind it too.  Guilt?  Impossible to tell, unless he was willing to let me in deeper, but when I opened up to the contact, he withdrew behind sheets of smooth glass.</p><p>“Would you mind very much if I went away for a short while?  Only a few days,” he added.  </p><p>My breath caught – but I knew that when I'd asked him to move in with us, I'd also said that we understood he'd sometimes need his space.  The others understood it too.  We'd always known we'd never be able to keep him anywhere he didn't want to be.  None of us would even want to try.  “If it's what you need, then no.  Of course I don't mind.”</p><p>I could tell from his smile that he knew I was lying.  “I'll come back in time for Christmas.”</p><p>“Like the song?” I teased lightly.</p><p>He cupped my cheek and pressed a kiss to my forehead.  “I am sorry, Claire.”</p><p>I tried very hard to settle my mind, and to show him what I couldn't say in words – that, as much as I was able to, I understood.</p><p>He nodded, and brushed my hair away from my face.  <i>Thank you.</i></p><p>“Where will you go?”</p><p>"I'm not sure yet.  North, I think."</p><p>“Alright.”  Wind creaked over the old slate-topped rooves.  “What do you want me to say to the others?"</p><p>"Tell them the truth; there's no cause to lie to them."  <i>Or no more than we already do.</i></p><p>I drew him close, and breathed out slowly as his arms settled around me.  "Be safe," I said.</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>"Take your phone."</p><p>He laughed.  "Claire, for your own good, you must stop playing mother to us all."</p><p>I swatted him, though with no real force behind it.  "I mean it.  You don't have to use it, but I'd feel better if you had it with you.  And keep it switched on, please?  I promise none of us will disturb you."  A dart of doubt pricked at my chest.  "Well.  Not unless you don't come back.”</p><p>“I will come back.”  He squeezed my shoulder.  “I promise.”</p><p>I stayed on the balcony alone for a while after he left.  When I eventually went back inside, the heating had switched itself off; I coaxed the boiler back to life, and then sat in the living room sipping my tea, until the radiators clunked and water began to hiss through the old, creaking pipes.  I snuggled into my hoodie, and felt a rush of gratitude for my thick knitted socks – a gift from Rosie.  </p><p><i>These are actually pretty warm.</i>  I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, even though I knew Rosie wasn't in her room.  <i>You're getting better.</i></p><p>The others wouldn't be back for a while yet; it wasn't even eleven o'clock.  I sat with my tea and tucked a blanket around my legs and put a DVD on – a ballet.  <i>The Nutcracker.</i>  I could watch the dancers and lose myself in the familiar Tchaikovsky score, and unpick my thoughts.  The air in the room smelled of last night's whisky, and tinsel, and the resinous pine of the tree.</p><p>I didn't know why he'd decided to leave.  It made no sense.  Although, I remembered, this wasn't unlike his behaviour last year, when he'd also disappeared around Christmas.</p><p>
  <i>For weeks.</i>
</p><p>But that time I'd accidentally set off a chain of old memories.  I'd had no idea who he was.  Or not much of an idea, anyway; perhaps my subconscious had taken note of a few more details than my waking mind.  Certainly the odd dreams I'd had would suggest as much.  I watched the dancers, leaping and twirling, watched the gleam of the stage lights on the intricate costumes.  I let my mind drift.  My subconscious wasn't giving me anything this time.</p><p>Last time, too, he had stayed in St Andrews.</p><p>
  <i>You don't know that.</i>
</p><p>I sighed.  After the warm, if slightly ragged, happiness of the end of term, now I felt lost and grey.</p><p>The light outside gradually brightened, and the clouds moved on.  Luc was home first; he dropped off his rucksack, then went upstairs to shower and change.  Harrison, despite having had the farthest to go, was back next.  He called a greeting, went to the kitchen, then put his head round the door.</p><p>"Hi.”</p><p>"Hi.  How are you?"</p><p>"OK, I think."  He smiled, and stretched.  "Glad the exams are over."</p><p>I returned the smile.  It wasn't, I suspected, particularly convincing. </p><p>Harrison's eyes sharpened despite their tiredness.  "What is it?"</p><p>"Is the kettle on?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Brew up, and I'll tell you."</p><p>I gave him a paraphrased version of what Mark had told me.  To my surprise, he didn't seem concerned.</p><p>"I think I expected this."  He blew on his tea, looking shrewdly at me.  "You're worried."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"He'll come back, Claire.  What did he take with him?"</p><p>I actually had no idea.  "I haven't checked his room."  I wasn't sure I wanted to.</p><p>Harrison nodded, and pulled his phone out of his hoodie pocket.  "One sec."</p><p>A minute or so later, Luc came downstairs, his braids still damp from the shower and a puzzled expression on his face.  "Why did you want me to look in Mark's room?"</p><p>"Is his harp there?"</p><p>"Yes.  Everything is there."  He frowned.  "Why would it not be?"</p><p>Harrison looked at me.  "See?  He needs a breather.  That's all."</p><p>"Ah, OK, <i>je comprends.</i>"  Luc sank down onto the sofa and put his arms around Harrison.  "Mark has gone away for a few days, yes?"</p><p>"Yes."  I looked at him, surprised.</p><p>Harrison rolled his eyes.  "Claire, whatever you seem to believe, we don't walk around with our eyes and ears shut.  We pay attention.  We notice things.  It's sort of a side effect when you live with an immortal being who may or may not be of interest to the government, the security service, and goodness knows who else."</p><p>Fear prickled in my stomach.  "What if...?"</p><p>"There's no reason they'd find him while he's away – or at least, it's no more likely than them finding him here."  Harrison squeezed my hand.  "Stop worrying.  Please.  For our sake if not for yours."</p><p>Theo didn't seem unduly concerned by the news either.  Rosie's brow crinkled, and she made a noise like a puzzled cat, but she was still reassuring.  </p><p>"He's done this before.  He didn't leave then."  She smiled – the same sweet, trusting, believing smile that had miraculously stayed intact through the wild mess that had been our summer semester.  "Why would he leave now?"</p><p>She didn't know what I knew.  I hadn't told them the stories he'd shared, of all the friends he'd left behind through the years.  They didn't know what sat inside him, the pit that he carefully fenced off in his mind, ready to pull him in and claim him if he let his guard slip.</p><p><i>But he promised he'd never leave without telling you.  He'd let you say goodbye.</i>  It hadn't been a vow, but it had been near enough, made in the desperate fear of last spring, when Mark had saved Theo's life and then almost bolted, knowing the others knew what he was.</p><p>“Come on.”  Harrison threw a cushion at me.  “You're not sitting there moping all day.  Let's get out and do something fun; we've earned it, after those bloody exams.”</p><p>“Aye aye, captain,” grinned Theo.</p><p>In the end I drove them out to the Balgove for lunch, coffee and cake, and a look around their farm shop – plus a last minute hunt for presents.  It was a bit of squash fitting everyone into Bilberry; Rosie wriggled herself into the middle seat in the back, and Luc, as the tallest, took the seat next to the driver, but Theo and Harrison had to contort themselves somewhat to fit into the back on either side of Rosie.  Not that it stopped them singing loud, noisy Christmas songs as we followed the road through town (busy, with all the festive tourists) and out towards Dundee.</p><p><i>"But if you really hold me tight..."</i> they bellowed.</p><p>"Shut up," I said wearily.</p><p>
  <i>"ALL THE WAY HOME, I'LL BE WARM!"</i>
</p><p>"I think this is what you call a losing battle, yes?" said Luc, grinning.  He had visibly relaxed even in the hour since finishing his last paper.</p><p>In spite of myself, I smiled – especially when the boys put their arms up to sway to <i>Little Drummer Boy</i>, and Rosie took advantage and tickled their ribs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the Saturday before Christmas I went for a drink in Aikman's with Anita, my supervisor, and Robert, my former tutor who had become a good friend. They had known each other for years, having met at Cambridge when Robert was an undergraduate, and for a while they chatted happily about mutual acquaintances and upcoming conferences and Anita's new play. I smiled and nodded in what seemed like the right places, and laughed along, but Anita's eyes soon narrowed, and she sat back in her chair, sipping her drink.</p><p>“Claire.” Her voice was sharp. “What is it?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>Robert gave a wry, quiet smile. “I wouldn't try that if I were you. Anita can smell a fib at twenty paces.”</p><p>“You'd know,” Anita replied tartly.</p><p>Robert looked like he might argue, then changed his mind and shrugged and went back to his pint.</p><p>Slowly, I turned my whisky glass between the tips of my fingers. “I'm worried for a friend, that's all. He's...he's had to go away for a few days, and I don't really know why, and I want to help – usually he tells me what's going on – ” A quick smile; I shook my head. “I'm probably being silly.”</p><p>Anita and Robert exchanged a long look.</p><p>“Claire.” When he eventually spoke, Robert's voice was as gentle as Anita's had been sharp. “Does this have anything to do with Mark Lowry?”</p><p>A sick, cold feeling shot through my skin.</p><p>“It's alright,” he added. “You're not in breach of any policies; he's a researcher in a different school...”</p><p>“It's nothing like that.” The interruption was automatic. My throat felt dry and cool, the way it used to be before court, and the heat of my jumper itched at my neck. “I mean, we live together, but it isn't – ”</p><p>“There's no need to be so defensive.” Anita's tone was softer now too. “People have noticed you together – at events, and around town. St Andrews is small. People talk.” She glanced at Robert, almost as though for permission, before continuing. “No-one seems to know Mark Lowry all that well. He doesn't have many friends, and he's always perfectly polite without ever giving anything away.”</p><p>I took a slow, unobtrusive breath, and forced myself not to grip my glass too tightly.</p><p>“I don't say that there's anything wrong or sinister about him – in fact, I find that highly unlikely.” She chuckled softly. “I found out when I joined just how thoroughly the university looks into the backgrounds of those who work here. But even so, it's clear to me that you two are close.” She didn't add, <em>too close</em>, though it hung there afterwards, in the pause as she met my eyes. “I suspect that isn't something that a Mark Lowry easily allows. And I know how it can feel, Claire, to be the centre of another person's world.”</p><p>“I don't think that's what I am to him.” How could I be, when his world had been lost so long ago?</p><p>“Then – as a friend, a colleague, and an admirer of your work – I advise you not to become so.” She gave a distant smile not unlike one of Mark's. “In the end, it can be a terribly lonely thing.”</p><p>I swallowed.</p><p>Robert cleared his throat and tilted his empty pint glass. “Another round?”</p><p>The moment passed, and talk returned to research, and funding, and memories of Robert's undergraduate antics.</p><p>The sky was clear as I walked home, and the air was sharp and cold and full of silver light. Frosted flowers gleamed on the pavements; the cobblestones glittered, and ahead, the cathedral ruins shone beneath the moon. I stopped on the corner in front of the Pends, staring at the crumbled wreck of the once-awesome frontage. In the graveyard each blade of grass glimmered, frozen and white. The tower's slit windows looked watchfully back, and I wondered if this might have been how Aglon looked, or Thargelion, or the Gap, in the dead of winter after the blood and fire of the Bragollach.</p><p>I shivered.</p><p>“You know, you'll catch your death standing out here.”</p><p>“Theo!” I leapt a good six inches into the air, then took a deep breath, laughing. “Jesus...”</p><p>“I didn't mean to make you jump. I'm sorry.” He gave me one of his best puppy-dog smiles, and then followed my gaze towards the cathedral. “What were you daydreaming about?”</p><p>“Oh. Nothing.” I stuck my hands in my pockets, realising they were rapidly going numb. “What are <em>you</em> doing out, anyway?”</p><p>“Can't I go for a walk?” His smile faded, and he looked at me carefully. “What's the matter?”</p><p>I gave a rueful half-laugh. “You're the second person to ask me that tonight.”</p><p>“What did you tell them?”</p><p>“Not a lot. I couldn't say much, really.”</p><p>He nodded – then, hesitantly, asked, “Could you tell me?”</p><p>I knew I shouldn't have felt as surprised as I did. I wasn't used to thinking of Theo as a listening ear – but he'd been the one to step in and comfort Rosie after her disastrous exam; he'd had the sense to give Harrison space over the summer to process what had happened in Toulouse, and he was also often the one to draw Luc out of his more pensive moods, either with a silly joke or a quiet trip to the pub. I winced as I thought again of my crack about his study habits. <em>Unfair and uncalled for.</em> “I can try. Walk? Oh...” Belatedly, I realised he must have been on his way back into the flat. “Sorry, you've just been...”</p><p>“Only down to East Sands.” He took my arm; I thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam escorting Eliza Bennet through the woods of Rosings Park, and hid a smile. “Let's go along the Scores. We can turn back when we get to the Old Course – unless you want to go up for some more layers first? Harrison and Mark will shoot me if I let you get ill...”</p><p>I laughed properly then. “I'll be fine once we're moving. And anyway, you don't catch cold from being cold.”</p><p>“Yes, mother.”</p><p>Even so, the night air pressed hard and chill against my cheeks as we turned onto the clifftop road. The castle huddled on its crumbling precipice; the pavements were slippery, and the echoes of the sea rolled softly upwards out of the dark. A giggling group of bare-legged girls in faux-fur coats strode past us, clearly on their way to Ma Bell's. I smiled, thinking of some of the outfits I used to flounce around London in, and did my best not to shake my head.</p><p>“Despairing of the youth of today?” Theo asked with a mischievous grin.</p><p>“Not quite. More like lamenting the youth of yesteryear.”</p><p>He tilted his head. “You're hardly old, Claire.”</p><p>“I'm twenty-eight.”</p><p>“Exactly.” His features creased in concern. “I know I tease you about being our mother, and being the grown-up, but I didn't realise it was upsetting you.”</p><p>“It isn't. Or...not on its own, anyway.”</p><p>We walked on. I chewed my lip, trying to get my thoughts in order.</p><p>“You know, Mark told me I should stop playing mother to you all,” I said eventually. “'For my own good.'”</p><p>“And that upset you?”</p><p>“Not at the time.”</p><p>Theo nodded, but stayed quiet, letting me find my own way into what I wanted to say. In the end, I decided it was easiest to simply spit it out.</p><p>“I'm worried that people know.”</p><p>He looked at me again, carefully. “About Mark?”</p><p>I nodded. “Not everything – that'd be a hell of a leap.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> made it.”</p><p>“That was different.”</p><p>Theo shrugged. “Maybe.”</p><p>We walked on a little way, past Edgecliffe with its symmetrical turrets and elaborate crenellated balconies, cast into shadow by the street lamps' glow. Trees hissed and whispered in the Spanish Gardens, while laughter and warm light poured from the Russell Hotel.</p><p>By the branching pathways that led down to the aquarium and the Martyrs' Monument, Theo paused. “By people,” he said, “I assume you mean Robert, and your supervisor?”</p><p>I gaped at him.</p><p>His smile was as gentle and appealing as ever, but there was a knowing gleam in his blue eyes that I rarely saw. “I'm not stupid, Claire. None of us are.”</p><p><em>“Whatever you seem to believe, we don't walk around with our eyes and ears shut.”</em> I heard Harrison's voice in my mind, and bit my lip again. “I know that.” I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging where they reached the knots the wind had made. “I just...”</p><p>Theo put his head on one side. “Do you need a hug?”</p><p>“Yes.” I laughed – but as he put his arms around me I felt tears burn in my eyes and throat, and my breath caught in my chest. “Oh – Theo, I'm so sorry...”</p><p>“It's alright.” He wasn't quite as tall as Harrison, and nowhere near Mark's height; my chin rested neatly on his shoulder, and he pressed his cheek against the side of my head. I felt him laugh a little too. “I don't know what to say, though. Maybe I should have let Harrison handle this.”</p><p>I smiled, took a steadying breath, and held him close. “I don't know about that. I'm not exactly in Harrison's good books.”</p><p>“Well, I know how that feels, at least.”</p><p>“Oh, Theo.” I stepped back, and squeezed his hand. “He doesn't think about that any more.”</p><p>He snorted. “That's absolute bollocks, but never mind. I love you for saying it.” He tucked his arm back through mine. “Anyway. What happened with Robert and your brilliant playwright, to make you worry so much?”</p><p>I thought back over the conversation in Aikman's as we wandered down towards the monument. “They knew something was wrong. I suppose I was being too quiet.” I grimaced, wishing I'd played the part better. Goodness knows I'd had enough practice in London. “They've noticed that Mark and I...that...”</p><p>“You're close,” Theo said simply.</p><p>I smiled. “That'll do, yes.”</p><p>A squeeze of my arm, almost imperceptible.</p><p>“And they know there's something unusual about him. They've noticed that he doesn't give much away.”</p><p>He made a non-committal noise. “Harrison noticed that about him almost straight away. It doesn't mean they know what he is.”</p><p>“But Harrison knew there was <em>something</em>, even before -” I paused. “Even before Hope Street.”</p><p>This time, even only in the glow of the moon and the street lamps, I could see sadness in Theo's smile. “We <em>all</em> knew there was something – but Claire, believe me, none of us were even halfway to guessing that he's an immortal creature from a storybook.”</p><p>Ice pitched through me; I pulled my arm from Theo's and spun to face him, heart hammering – but he only looked confused.</p><p>“<em>Now</em> what?” he asked, blue eyes wounded.</p><p>He didn't know, I realised. Not everything. Not Maglor's real identity, nor the truth of his history – and how could he? How could anyone? It was too much – too far to jump. I breathed again. “I'm sorry.”</p><p>Theo shook his head. “What the hell did they say to you?”</p><p>“Anita told me...” I swallowed, and turned my eyes to the sea. “She told me not to become the centre of another person's world.”</p><p>The waves curled in and sang against the sand; the salt-earth scent of the dunes filled the air. Slowly, carefully, Theo stepped closer. He held out an arm, and after a moment I leaned against him. “I'm not exactly an expert,” he said, “but surely the bigger problem is whether he's the centre of yours?”</p><p>“I don't know. Sometimes I...” I paused, thinking carefully. “Sometimes, as arrogant and stupid as it sounds, I think we both need each other.” I shrugged, forced a smile, and then my breath shuddered again. “I always knew, really, that it wasn't possible to – to fix him. He's seen too much, there's too much history...” My lashes pricked; I pressed the heel of my left hand against my eyes. “I knew that the best we'd ever be able to offer him was a rest. Somewhere to be for a while; somewhere he didn't have to hide everything, where he could let himself love, and...” I swallowed, and almost laughed, even through the tears I knew were coming. “And be loved. But even knowing that, I can't help...I wish...”</p><p>I did cry then, and Theo let me. He stood with his arm around my shoulders and his back to the shore, shielding me from the worst of the wind.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When we got back to the flat, Harrison and Rosie were in the middle of a game, and Luc was reading on the small sofa. The tree lights were switched on – although fortunately not singing – and a fat, cream-coloured candle flickered on the bookshelf. Its smoke smelled of nutmeg and sugar and the delicate sharpness of clementine.</p><p>“You're late back,” Harrison remarked without looking up. “What did you do, walk all the way to Anstruther?”</p><p>“Sod off,” was Theo's automatic response.</p><p>Harrison did lift his head then. He looked at us both; his eyes settled on me, and after a moment he smiled. “Claire, do you want to learn <em>Citadels</em>? We're almost done with this round, and we can easily run it for three.”</p><p>“I'm OK.” I summoned a smile in return. “Thanks.”</p><p>“I think I've lost anyway.” Rosie set her remaining cards on the floor. “I can't build any of these; I don't have enough money. And you have something in every colour.”</p><p>A quick count up confirmed that Harrison had, indeed, won by some distance. The game was put away, and we curled up in chairs and on sofas and beanbags, glasses of whisky (or, in Theo's case, ginger beer) in hand.</p><p>“What are you reading, Luc?” Rosie asked curiously.</p><p>He held up the book – a battered yellow paperback. “It is Basque poetry.”</p><p>She sat up a little straighter. “Like...<em>in</em> Basque?”</p><p>“<em>Euskara.</em> Yes.” He smiled. “It is my second language. It's good to practise; I don't use it much here.”</p><p>“Would you read us some?”</p><p>The smile faded. “I don't think I could translate well. Not...ah...how do you say it? From the top of my head.”</p><p>“Read it in Basque.” Theo had picked up my battered old copy of <em>A Christmas Carol</em>, but now laid it to one side. “Understanding is overrated.”</p><p>Luc shrugged, and his eyes dipped demurely. “<em>Comme tu veux.</em>”</p><p>Harrison, on the beanbag, tilted his head at me in invitation. I smiled and curled against his side, and his arm settled around my waist.</p><p>“<em>Are</em> you OK?” he whispered as Luc leafed through the book.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>He took my hand, and Luc settled on a page and began to read.</p><p>“<em>Batek badali hitzak ez direla urrutira joaten</em><br/>
<em>hegoak hautsirik dauzkatelako</em><br/>
<em>aingeru zaurituak bezala...</em>”</p><p>The words danced like sunlight on a canopy of leaves. In my mind I saw ancient cities in summer, and mountainsides scattered with blossoming trees – and deep in my heart I felt a sense of loss, of forgetting, followed by an unfolding and a rediscovery, and finally, far away, hope.</p><p>“<em>...gabe neu pentsatzen</em><br/>
<em>nola isuriko ote ziren zure hitzak ondoko gelan,</em><br/>
<em>mordoska larrosaren petaloak bezala</em><br/>
<em>edo banan bana sagarrondoaren hostoak bezala.</em>”</p><p>Theo was right, I thought, leaning sleepily against my cousin; sometimes you didn't need the meaning. Sometimes the sound was enough by itself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The poem Luc reads is 'Smoothy', by Felipe Juaristi.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christmas Eve dawned damp and grey.  When I wandered into the living room, Rosie was already up and Skyping her brothers; I waved at them, glad that I'd changed out of my pyjamas, and went to inspect the contents of the fridge.  </p><p>It was impressively well-stocked, I had to admit.  Both the main fridge and the spare one resembled an elaborate game of Jenga; we'd even had to move the drinks onto the balcony to make space for the food.  Finding the breakfast supplies proved unexpectedly hazardous – uncovering the bacon almost caused a tupperware avalanche – but my mission was successful, and soon the smoky, savoury scent of a fry-up in the making had lured the boys from their beds.</p><p>“Do you need any help?” Harrison yawned, his hair still sticking up at odd angles.</p><p>I shook my head.  Theo and Luc had set the table, and Rosie had made tea.  “It's under control.”</p><p>Even so, he stayed and kept me company – knowing, I suspected, that all the while I was listening for the front door.  </p><p>Once everyone was fed, showered and dressed, we headed out for the Christmas Market on Lower College Lawn.  My present shopping was all taken care of – as, I assumed from the flurry of secretive rustling in bedrooms over the last few days, was everyone else's.  Still, it was a pleasant way to spend the last day before Christmas.  There weren't many students left; most people browsing the stalls were locals and tourists, plus a handful of undergraduates and postgraduates who, like us, were staying put for the break.  The sky was gloomy, and the wind was clammy and chill.  In a corner, sheltering from the damp and breeze, a brass band from one of the local schools played carols and festive songs; the sizzle and scent of frying onions and German sausages hung thick in the air; stalls displayed rows of carefully carved wooden tree decorations and painted baubles, and children darted around with bags of neon-coloured sweets.  I indulged in some fudge and some marzipan fruits, and then stood with the others by the temporary ice rink, nibbling, glad of my earmuffs and my thick, warm coat.</p><p>Rosie gave a plaintive sigh.  “I miss skating.”</p><p>“You skate?” Theo asked, evidently surprised.</p><p>“Yes.”  Her reply was somewhat waspish.</p><p>“Sorry.  It's only that...well, you grew up in London -”</p><p>“Which is full of parks!  And at Christmas they put ice rinks in the Tower grounds, and outside the National History Museum, and all sorts.”</p><p>“Well, in that case...”  He gave a gallant bow and held out his hand, though his cheeks were red – and not, I thought, entirely from the wind.  “Rosemary Addenbrooke, would you like to go ice skating with me?”</p><p>Rosie laughed.  “Yes, please.”</p><p>Luc watched them go, smiling, and gave Harrison a gentle nudge.  “Would <i>you</i> like to skate?”</p><p>“Er...”  Harrison grimaced.  “Would you mind if I said no?  I'm not very good, and I don't want to spend another Christmas on crutches.”</p><p>With a laugh, Luc kissed his temple.  “I don't want this either.”</p><p>“I'm sorry -”</p><p>“It's OK.”  Luc took his hand.  “Actually I do not know how.  Our winters in Toulouse were not like these in Scotland; the world did not disappear under ice.”</p><p>“It hasn't disappeared under ice up here!”</p><p>“It feels like that.”</p><p>“Softie.”</p><p>Luc gave an angelic smile.    </p><p>Soon the two of them wandered off in search of hot crêpes.  I watched Rosie and Theo for a while longer, impressed by their speed and grace on the ice.  Theo was showing off, skating backwards and towing Rosie by the hands, and she laughed as her hair escaped from under her hat and blew back in the wind.</p><p>
  <i>Please be careful.  Don't hurt each other again.</i>
</p><p>But they were both more thoughtful and self-aware than they had been this time last year.  They certainly weren't kids any more.  I smiled at them, waved, and left them to it. </p><p>I drifted out of the market and along the Scores.  The North Sea frothed and snarled; its waves spumed over the rocks in great jets of foam and spray, and its voice rumbled around the coves as it drew back again from the shore.  The castle was closed, but the cathedral grounds were still open; I slipped inside, hoping the high stone walls would provide some shelter from the wind.</p><p>It was quieter amid the calm of the gravestones and ruins.  The the chancery and transept were deserted, bereft of the students who often came in to read, even in the depths of winter – and of course on Christmas Eve there were no tourists floating around taking pictures.  In the eastern cemetery, decaying statues loomed over the pathway. The air was still; the breeze whispered over the boundary walls, but the grass did not stir, and every sound seemed deeper, older, nearer.  </p><p>I closed my eyes, listening, <i>feeling.</i>  I remembered sitting here with Maglor almost a year ago, while the others chased about and flung snow.</p><p>
  <i>“...this is a strange place. Thin. Liminal. More so even than the castle.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Like you might accidentally wander into the wrong bit of history.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yes, exactly...the feel of it shifts with the time of day and year...”</i>
</p><p>I thought about what he'd said, about a presence that slept in the stones, and wondered whether I'd be able to feel it now.  My breathing grew soft and slow, and my muscles warmed as I slid into the open, relaxed mindspace I used to speak silently to Maglor.  Gently I reached for the old building's heart, listening for the things it kept hidden, under the roll of the sea and the breath of the wind...</p><p>“If I were you, I wouldn't try that alone.”</p><p>I yelped, and jumped – and then, laughing, turned and stepped into his arms.</p><p>“Maglor...”  My voice was shaking; I breathed in, determined not to cry.  “Don't <i>do</i> that, you nearly scared me to death...”</p><p>“I didn't mean to.”  He placed a light kiss on the top of my head.  “I'm sorry.  But what were you thinking?”</p><p>“I don't know.”  My cheeks burned.  “I was trying to...to listen to the cathedral, I suppose.  The way that we...”  </p><p>“The way we listen to one another.”</p><p>“I just wanted to see if it was possible.”</p><p>“It's possible, yes, but it isn't always advisable.  Not in a place like this.”  With one hand, he cupped my cheek.  “How are you?”</p><p>“I'm fine, but never mind that...where did you go?  Is everything alright?”</p><p>“Near enough,” he answered, and I realised too late that it had been a silly question.  “I went north for a day or two.  That's all.”</p><p>I looked up at him, carefully.  He looked a lot better than he had last Christmas, I was glad to see, but even so, there was <i>something.</i>  He wore a smile, but there was something not quite settled in his eyes; his expression wasn't guarded, not exactly, but I recognised enough of the practised, neutral mask to know I shouldn't push.  “Have you been back to the flat?”</p><p>“Yes – I got back around noon, but you were all out.”</p><p>“The others are at the Christmas market.  We could walk back and meet them, if you like.”  I took another glance at his face, then made a show of checking my watch.  “Although if we want to eat at a sensible time, we might need to start chopping vegetables soon...”</p><p>We ended up back in the kitchen, as I'd known we would.  I switched on the central heating, and the boiler clunked and gurgled into life; meanwhile, Mark took the lamb and vegetables out of the fridge.  We'd decided against a full turkey dinner on Christmas day, in favour of a big meal the evening before – a tradition we'd decided to borrow from France.</p><p>“Sounds good to me,” Harrison had grinned when Luc explained.  “Leaves more time for presents and films and games on the day itself!”</p><p>From a practical point of view, too, this was easier.  There were too many moving parts with a turkey dinner, and too much washing up.  Braising a leg of lamb and a selection of vegetables in red wine for several hours was, by contrast, straightforward, and far less messy.  </p><p>We listened to Bach's Christmas Oratorio while we worked.  Maglor was quiet, although not exactly withdrawn, and I left him to his thoughts.  For now, I was content simply to have him back; I let the music seep through me as I peeled the papery skins from a pile of shallots, and watched the Scottish twilight fade into dark.</p><p>The others came home around five.  Their reactions to Mark were somewhat calmer than mine; Rosie looked like she might dash into his arms, but a quick glance from Harrison stopped her.  Instead she hugged him tightly – but there were no tears, and no overly exuberant displays of affection, from either her or from the boys.  He might have come back from a day trip to Dundee.  </p><p>In between cooking I'd made mulled wine and hot spiced apple juice, and before long we were settled in the living room, chattering and laughing, candles lit, our hands curled around bright festive mugs.  The air from the radiators warmed the tree and set the scent of pine stealing through the room.  Luc vanished for half an hour or so to speak to his little sister, and when he returned, his eyes were red – but he was smiling.  We pretended not to notice the tears, and instead turned our attention to the BBC broadcast of <i>Carols from Kings,</i> and after that, to dinner.</p><p>The lamb was a great success, as was the chocolate Yule log I'd spent a good part of the previous day constructing – but as we tidied the kitchen (and as Rosie and Theo sang loudly along to Slade), Mark slipped away upstairs. </p><p>Gently, Harrison touched my shoulder.  “Go talk to him.”</p><p>I glanced around at the piles of dishes and pots.  “Sure?”</p><p>“Absolutely.  You cooked; we can take care of this lot.”  He gave me a one-armed squeeze.  “See you in a bit.”</p><p>Mark, as I'd expected, was once again on the balcony.  The clouds had lifted and the stars shone clear; the night was fiercely cold; the air smelled of frost, and the smooth slate rooftops glittered with ice.</p><p>“Best hope Santa packed his skates,” I quipped.</p><p>Maglor smiled and held out an arm to me.</p><p>Grateful for the extra warmth, I leaned against him.  Organ music drifted from somewhere nearby – St Leonard's Chapel, I realised.  They must be doing a candlelight service.</p><p>“I'm sorry I left so abruptly.”</p><p>I felt the thrum of his rich, musical voice against my back.  His right hand rested in the curve of my waist; I laid my own over it, settling my fingertips in the grooves between his knuckles.  “I'm sorry if I made you feel like you shouldn't go.”</p><p>His grip tightened briefly.</p><p>“I take it you didn't pitch a tent in a field to wait for the end of the world?”  My tone was deliberately light; I didn't want him to think I felt entitled to pry, or that I was pushing or intruding, but it had been something about that radio broadcast that tipped him into taking those few days away.  If he wanted to tell me anything, that might be a way in.</p><p>I felt him sigh, and he rested his chin on the top of my head.  “No.  I knew the world was not about to end – although the Song is quiet, in this late Age.  I don't yet understand what that means.”</p><p>The peaceful chords of the organ processional merged into the haunting, pensive melody of 'Adam Lay Ybounden.'  Silently, I squeezed Maglor's hand.</p><p>“I cannot go back, Claire.  You know that.”  A soft, humourless laugh.  I didn't have to ask where he meant.  “'There is now no ship that would bear me hence.'”</p><p>“Do you want to go back?”</p><p>I felt his mind brush against my own – the power and the sheer bloody-minded will of him, and the terrible wound that could never be healed.  <i>You know what we swore.  “To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth...”</i>  </p><p>A seabird shrieked in the cathedral ruins.  I shivered.</p><p>“They would not be there waiting for me,” he said aloud.  Their faces shone clear in my mind – Maedhros, with clouds of fiery hair and eyes like a mountain rill; Celegorm, fair and fey; Curufin, thoughtful and sharp as a knife; Fëanor...  “So no.  I have no wish to return.”  <i>In either life or death.</i></p><p>I bit my lip, wondering, as I had many times, whether their deed had truly failed – whether the Oath  could be held either broken or fulfilled, or whether it simply slept, waiting, like whatever haunted the cathedral's crumbling carcass.  I knew what Maglor thought, though, and that it was no use to argue.</p><p>I wasn't careful enough with my thoughts; I heard him chuckle, bitterly and quietly.</p><p>“In a strange way, I do not think it matters.  Not to <i>them.</i>”  <i>I will not go back to be judged or tried.  The Valar would not grant me forgiveness if I asked for it, whether they held the Oath broken or no.  Nor would the survivors and the reborn – and them, I do not blame.  Well.</i>  Something cold and sharp ran through his thoughts.  <i>Not all of them.</i></p><p>I exhaled slowly.  “Mark...”  A reminder, the alias.  A plea, to remember where he was.  </p><p>His mind settled.  <i>Forgive me.</i></p><p>
  <i>It was my fault.  I shouldn't have – </i>
</p><p><i>No.</i>  His mental touch was gentler now, soft with affection and warmth.  <i>No, do not blame yourself.</i>  “I cannot go back, and would not if I could,” he repeated.  <i>My father and brothers will not return until the Door of Night is opened, and the end is come at last.</i></p><p>Understanding settled in me like stone.  <i>Maglor...</i>  I felt a fool for not seeing it before.  “You <i>were</i> waiting for it.”</p><p>“Not really.”  He flexed his burned hand, and I slid my fingers between his.  “At least, I knew it would not come on Friday.”</p><p>“Thank God.  Imagine if it had; I'd have had to spend the rest of eternity listening to Rosie, wailing about how NASA could have got it so wrong.”</p><p>He did laugh then.  “Claire...I hope you know how dear you are to me.  All of you.”</p><p>I said nothing, but pressed my cheek against the soft wool of his jumper.</p><p>“Imperfect and impermanent as it is, it would have been impossible for me to walk this world for all these years without loving it – and, occasionally, some of the people in it.”  He wrapped his other arm around me, drawing me close.  <i>I do not know what your fate will be, at the end, but if the tales are to be believed then the destinies of the Quendi and the Atani are forever sundered.  How could I wish for that?</i></p><p>My eyes pricked hot and sharp with tears.  <i>But you do wish it, don't you?  Because you don't think you'll see your family again any other way.</i></p><p>He swallowed.  <i>I do not hope for the end, Claire, but nor can I think of it with dread.  And that frightens me.</i></p><p>For a long time in the dark we held each other, listening to the organ and watching the stars.  Eventually the service finished, and the worshippers filtered into the streets – quietly, respectfully, almost expectantly.  A few moments later, the church bells chimed twelve, and I took Maglor's hands in mine.</p><p>“Merry Christmas.”  I made myself smile.</p><p>He kissed my cheek and drew me back into his arms.  “Merry Christmas, Claire.”  He lifted his eyes to the northern sky, where one lone star shone brighter than all, and softly murmured, “<i>Eala Earendel, engla beorhtast, ofer middangeard monnum sended...</i>”</p><p>I knew that some of the tales were embellished, and that some had been altered or even omitted in retelling, but I'd never quite dared to ask about the Silmaril of the Air.  Perhaps, with all he'd said of the Valar and his family, I was wrong to do so now – but somehow, suddenly, I couldn't bear not to.  “Is it really true?”</p><p>His answering smile was quiet and brief.  “As much as I can, I choose to believe that it is.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He stayed with me that night.  I held him in my arms until he fell asleep, before allowing my thoughts and awareness to drift – and when I woke in the morning, his breathing was still even and deep, and his face was almost at peace.</p><p>Lightly, gently, I kissed his forehead, then slid out of bed and picked up the sack of presents I'd hidden under my desk.  </p><p>To my astonishment, Theo was already up, and was arranging stacks of carefully wrapped parcels  under the tree.</p><p>“Great minds,” he grinned.  </p><p>“Evidently.”  I knelt down next to him and began to tuck my own presents into the gaps.  “Looks like Santa's been generous.”</p><p>Theo laughed.  “Seems so.”  His smile faded, and he gave me a careful sideways look.  “Is everything alright?”</p><p>I echoed Mark's answer of yesterday.  “Near enough.”</p><p>“OK.”  For a moment he seemed like he might say something more – then he smiled and held out his arms.  “Merry Christmas.”</p><p>I held him tight.  “Merry Christmas, Theo.”</p><p>The others weren't far behind us.  Mark set about making tea, while Rosie darted around switching on fairy lights and setting up a festive playlist.</p><p>“Please, no more Slade,” Luc implored her.</p><p>She stuck out her tongue, but didn't argue; instead she chose a selection of carols arranged for acoustic guitar, then wrapped herself in a blanket and came to sit by the tree.</p><p>“Pretty impressive,” Harrison remarked, eyeing the stacks of gifts.  “If I didn't know better I'd be asking whether Santa isn't real after all.”</p><p>Mark raised his eyebrows as he handed round warm mugs.  “Are you so sure he isn't?”  </p><p>We all looked up.</p><p>“You're joking,” said Theo – though he sounded uncertain.  </p><p>“Of course he's joking,” said Luc with a smile and a shake of the head.</p><p>For a few moments more Mark maintained his assumed air of mystery – and then he smiled too, and his eyes shone with mischief.  “As far as I know, there's no red-clad man living at the North Pole who delivers presents to well-behaved children on Christmas Eve.  But belief is a powerful thing, and the Earth has a magic of its own.”  He shrugged.  “There are plenty of tales of old, strange things in this world, and as you all know now, some are at least partly true – or they were, once.”</p><p>“Like what?” asked Rosie, leaning forward.  “Apart from Elves.”</p><p>“Like – ”  Mark's pause was abrupt, as though he'd changed his mind at the last moment about what he was going to say.  “Ghosts.  Nymphs.  Vampires.”</p><p>“<i>Vampires?</i>”</p><p>Harrison snorted.  “Yeah, vampires, that's exactly what we want to talk about on Christmas day.”</p><p>“Horror stories are traditional at Christmas,” Theo protested.</p><p>“Horror stories are fine until you find out they're real.”  Harrison got to his feet.  “I'm putting the grill on; who wants toast?”</p><p>While the others were distracted, I reached gently for Maglor's mind.  <i>What did you stop yourself from telling them?</i></p><p>An image appeared in my mind, of a man with skin like old apples and lapis lazuli eyes, dressed in a bright blue jacket and tall yellow boots.  <i>Oh, goodness.</i>  I swallowed a shout of laughter, and at the same time shivered with nerves.   <i>That would really have given the game away...</i></p><p><i>Indeed.</i>  A regretful shadow stirred in his eyes – but then the boys reappeared with breakfast, and the moment passed on.</p><p>After hot buttered toast and coffee and tea, we gathered around the Christmas tree again, and divided up the gifts.  As well as the things we'd got for each other, there were presents from further afield.  By consensus, Rosie, Theo, Harrison and I had all kept our gifts from our families out of the way, so as not to have significantly more to open than Luc and Mark – but Ariana had sent a huge tray of crystallised fruit from Harrods and addressed it to everyone; Luc's aunt and uncle had given us each a pair of mittens, in the same design but in different colours, and my grandmother had bought or made something for everyone.</p><p>“This is beautiful.”  Tears started in Rosie's eyes as she opened an old-fashioned clip-top purse, embroidered with pink roses.  “Your grandmother is so kind.”</p><p>“She's a good'un,” Harrison agreed.</p><p>“She's never even met me.”  Mark carefully ran his fingers over the book of harp music she had sent him, looking startled and touched.  </p><p>“She knows you matter to us.”</p><p>He smiled.  “I'll write and thank her tomorrow.”</p><p>“Me too,” said Rosie immediately.</p><p>“I'll buy a card when the shops are open again,” Theo said.  His own gift was a warm maroon jumper.  “We can all write.”</p><p>“What's this?” Luc said curiously, picking up a squashy, oddly shaped, messily-wrapped parcel.  I had a similar one on my own pile of gifts, I noticed, and picked it up to examine it further.</p><p>“Oh...”  Deep coral bloomed across Rosie's cheeks. “You've all got one of those – they're from me, and there's sort of a theme, so you might as well open them together.  I got you all a proper present too,” she added quickly.  “These are just for fun.”</p><p>I dug my nails under the scrunched edges of the paper.  Mark turned his parcel over carefully in his hands, searching for an entry point, while Harrison attacked the sellotape with his teeth.  Theo made short work of his, and pulled an ugly blue knitted troll from the wrapping.  For a moment he gaped at it, and then he laughed.  “Rosie, this is brilliant...did you make it?”</p><p>Rosie's blush darkened prettily, and she nodded.</p><p>Harrison grinned.  “It's a dead ringer for you, bud.”</p><p>Theo took a swipe at him in retaliation; Harrison ducked, nearly sent the Christmas tree flying, and accidentally knocked the switch that made the lights sing 'Jingle Bells.' </p><p>“Please be careful,” I entreated as Mark steadied it (and Harrison).  “Ugh, how do I turn this noise off?”</p><p>“Here.”  Theo dug out the controller and pressed the mute button.  “All done.”</p><p>“Do <i>not</i> buy anything like that again,” Luc scowled.</p><p>“I'm sorry...”</p><p>But the scowling didn't last long; Luc unwrapped a chubby, knitted wolf cub, and laughed with delight.  “For our next round of Dungeons and Dragons, yes?” he asked Rosie.</p><p>“Exactly.”  She smiled sweetly in Harrison's direction.  “You can have a wolf if you like.  Never mind what <i>he</i> says.”</p><p>Harrison, though, was distracted by tearing the wrapping off his own gift – and finally let out a crow of triumph.  "Oh!  Amazing!"  His toy was an orange dinosaur, shaped roughly like a T-Rex but with a startlingly long neck.</p><p>I smiled.  “OK, my turn.”  My wrapping paper concealed something deep fuchsia, with flapping ears and a knotted woollen tail – a pink elephant.  “Oh, how cute!”</p><p>“An elephant?” laughed Theo.  “Rosie, really?  That's hardly flattering.”</p><p>“Theo!” Rosie yelped, and turned to me, her expression mortified.  “That isn't what I meant at all...”</p><p>“We know,” Mark reassured her.</p><p>“I just thought it was sweet.”</p><p>“It is.”  I squeezed her hand, and gave Theo my best courtroom glare.  “It's adorable.”</p><p>“Go on, Mark,” said Harrison.  “What have you got?”</p><p>Mark's knitted toy resembled a green snake with fins and flippers.  Theo screwed his mouth up, clearly trying not to laugh again.</p><p>“It's the Loch Ness Monster,” Rosie explained, her cheeks now nearing the colour of my elephant. “You know, a mythical creature, no-one thinks it exists...”</p><p>“It's wonderful.”  Mark's grey eyes softened, and memory curled in the corner of his smile.  “Thank you.”</p><p>The boys had clubbed together to buy Rosie an antique telescope; while she was exclaiming over it, and hugging each of them hard, I opened my gift from Mark.  </p><p>“<i>Oh,</i>” I breathed, stroking the tooled red leather covering the box.  Before I lifted the lid I knew what was inside; I'd admired it in Venice, but decided I couldn't justify the expense.  “Mark...thank you.”</p><p>“You're very welcome.  I hope you enjoy it.”</p><p>“It's probably wasted on me; it's years since I did any calligraphy...”  Inside the box was lined with red velvet; tapered brushes, elaborately decorated pens, and bottles of richly-coloured inks were held in place by thin bands of gold ribbon.  A stack of thick, creamy paper nestled underneath.  I closed my eyes, despite knowing I must look ridiculous, and inhaled the box's scent.  It smelled like the workshop of a book-binder from hundreds of years ago.</p><p>He touched my cheek.  “If it gives you pleasure then it is certainly not wasted.”  </p><p>My gift for him was a pair of tickets to the opera in Edinburgh – Tchaikovsky's <i>Cherevichki.</i></p><p>“I had no idea what to buy you,” I explained.  “And I thought it might be nice for us to go away for a night or two in the new year, and have a break from this lot.”</p><p>“I quite agree.”  He set aside the tickets, and took my hands in his.  “Thank you.”</p><p>Across the room, Theo put a handful of glitter from one of the cards down the back of Harrison's neck; Harrison retaliated by throwing a wadded-up ball of wrapping paper, which accidentally hit Luc.  A three-way wrestling match ensued.</p><p>Lunch was a cold spread of the best that the Balgove had to offer – game pie; venison salami; Scotch eggs; pickles; crudités and dips; smoked salmon; prawns; crisp white baguettes and dense, tangy sourdough; fruit, cream and cut comb honey; marmalade sponge; Anstruther oatcakes, and five kinds of cheese.  (“No wonder the drinks wouldn't fit in the fridge,” Theo commented, seeing everything set out.)  Afterwards we went for a walk down Lade Braes, making the most of the fading light; the sky had stayed clear, and bars of soft pink sun filtered through the bare trees and onto the path.  The burn chattered merrily away; Harrison and Luc wandered ahead, holding hands; Rosie, meanwhile, tucked herself against Theo's side.  Mark watched them all with a strange expression that mingled affection and hunger, as though committing the scene to memory, to take out and examine in years to come.  </p><p>I took his hand, and he turned to me and smiled, and touched my mind lightly with his own.</p><p>Back at the flat, as twilight fell, we dipped in and out of board games and films to take calls from our absent families.  I felt a faint pang as I spoke to my grandmother and thanked her for the gifts, and again when I listened my young cousins, Amber and Ben, chattering on about their new books and craft kits and toys – but, returning to the living room and seeing the others sprawled comfortably in front of <i>Meet Me in St. Louis</i>, I couldn't regret my decision.  Besides, if Luc didn't secure a place on a Masters course here, then he would most likely move out at the end of the year; Rosie, too, could technically collect her BSc at the end of next term and move on, though I knew she intended to stay on for her Honours.  And Mark...</p><p>I looked at him, stretched out on the big sofa like a cat at rest.  I swallowed, thinking of the clinging fear of the days he'd been away, and the knowledge of the friends he'd left behind in the past.</p><p>
  <i>Will you leave us too, one day?</i>
</p><p>There would be other Christmases in other places.  This might be the only time that it would be the six of us, together in St Andrews, undisturbed by the rest of the world.</p><p>On the television screen, a mournful Judy Garland undid her glittering hairnet and began to sing.</p><p>
  <i>“Have yourself a merry little Christmas</i><br/>
<i>Let your heart be light</i><br/>
<i>Next year all our troubles will be out of sight...”</i>
</p><p>Mark looked up.  <i>What is it?</i></p><p><i>Nothing.</i>  I slid onto the sofa beside him, and leaned into the easy warmth of his embrace.</p><p>
  <i>“Have yourself a merry little Christmas</i><br/>
<i>Make the Yuletide gay...”</i>
</p><p>From the other sofa, Harrison snorted; Rosie rolled her eyes and flung a cushion at him.</p><p>
  <i>“Next year all our troubles will be miles away.</i><br/>
<i>Once again as in olden days</i><br/>
<i>Happy golden days of yore</i><br/>
<i>Faithful friends who are dear to us</i><br/>
<i>Will be near to us once more.”</i>
</p><p>I felt Maglor's hand close over mine.</p><p>
  <i>“Someday soon, we all will be together, if the fates allow;</i><br/>
<i>Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow...”</i>
</p><p>Ever so slightly, I felt his breathing hitch.  I folded my other hand over his, and cradled it close to my chest.</p><p>
  <i>“So have yourself a merry little Christmas now...”</i>
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